


Yggdrasil's Roots

by Noid



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Plot, idk why i'm making a sequel, in fact don't expect any updates until im satisfied with my writing, normal is gone was a train wreck, really fucking slow to update, then again when am i ever satisfied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 23:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noid/pseuds/Noid
Summary: Nea and Jake team up to confront more than what meets the eye. The quiet woodsman and the stealthy punk began to lay down guidelines, routes and confront nightmares of neither reality nor dreams.The old Gods watch on.





	Yggdrasil's Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Normal is Gone. ♥ Please let me be aware of any typos, loopholes or lore problems.

To think of how easily they had manged to get out of the restraints. It was startling to look at the ripped chains of another experiment, especially after he had long since left for further goods from within the depths of the ink-well that was the fog. The mangled chains hung loose and uselessly against the stone wall that had partially concaved under the monstrous pressure. The rest of the small place was in decent shape still and he was merely lucky that the beast hadn't bothered to smash everything in the vicinity. Perhaps it had been because of the power that coursed through his sturdy veins. Perhaps it was because it had given him the willpower to shrug off the infections pain and stalk forward, searching with renewed hate for survivors and his memories. Perhaps it was more than that.

A hand, frail and sticky in its long-since aged bandages, reached out for nearest the Bunsen burner. The gas switch was flicked to the side with utmost care, a match meeting it to properly light it. The flame bloomed beautifully. The burner held still as well, letting the glare of the little flame reflect from the glass bottle that had been salvaged from the fog. His reflection, blurred by the brew within, passed over the bottles as he moved from one end of the worn table to the other. Two arms slid through the mass of objects on the table and gingerly spread them apart, making room for more that he had found in the fog's depths.

Anything that was deemed as "useful" in the fog was taken. Granted, he sometimes didn't know what would be and what would hinder him but glass bottles were always something he had collected. Water, sap, tears- It was all useful one way or another and bottles collected them, cork or no cork. But that was not what he had collected during that unending night. His raiding of the muck and slop of the so-called "soil" of this wretched realm brought him something new. He held it up between his fingers, thin lips pulling up and back to smile. 

A bright orange flower, intact and pulsing, vibrated with life in his hands. It was barely alive from as it was taken by its roots, wiggling against his sickly fingers. His touch was putting it in clear unease.

He wasted no time in potting the tiny plant that had been turned into a grand infection all across the realm. Setting it down on the table with the same fingers that wanted to smash this beast apart, he began to fill up an old, tiny crate with muck and soil alike. He ignored the old logo on the side of the box, no longer wanting to think about the escaped thing as he tucked the sweet little pest into its new home. The glowing plant wiggled again, as if settling into the soil, before it simply swayed with the wind that no longer felt like a simple, winter's breath. He knew better than to believe something was real in the weather. Especially in this realm.

It took no time before the little cove was lit with small fires. Glass bottles grew hot and the liquids within began to bubble, boil and solidify in some cases. He watched them all, twitching fingers running along the rim of the bottles' mouth and neck before returning back to the limp chains.

Sheer strength had broken through the iron and he held it in his palms, examining the great strength.

So... was this it? Was this what he had thought it was?

A pale hand stretched and gathered an old pen, long-since dried up. He gathered mud on the tip from the ground and began to write in an old journal, one that had never ended yet due to the fuckery of this realm. He could hear the spine crack in protest but he ignored the leather-bound problems of the book that he kept so close to. 

Tʜᴇ Hᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ Bʟɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇɢᴜɴ. Tʜᴇʀᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ꜱᴏ ᴛᴏᴏ, ꜱʜᴀʟʟ I.


End file.
